Transfigured Hearts 3: Taking Umbrage
by MrsTater
Summary: Time is precious to Order members, especially where romance is concerned. Remus doesn't want to waste it talking about the unjust new Educational Decree. Tonks disagrees, and a second date threatens to become a first fight.
1. Part One

_Sequel to **Think Too Much** and second in the **Transfigured Hearts** series, this story is set in August of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. _As always, man thanks to **Godricgal **for her fantastic beta work._

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**Part One**

"Where's my favourite place to be kissed?"

Tonks bellowed the security question almost before Remus finished knocking. When both sounds had dissipated, leaving him in the silent corridor outside her flat, he continued to stand with his arm raised, knuckles poised against the door, cheeks aching with a huge grin he was pretty sure exceeded the level of dopiness he was comfortable displaying to the world, or more specifically, Tonks, should she give up on waiting for his answer and open the door. He was helpless to suppress it, though.

Frantic schedules had kept him apart from Tonks for the entire week since he'd taken her out; before he'd received an owl late last night, inviting him to hers for breakfast, Remus had begun to doubt whether their days off would ever coincide and allow a second date, much less a tenth or twentieth. Not only that, but while absence was definitely making _his _heart grow fonder, he couldn't imagine that a picnic in the park with a grey-haired bloke who'd worn a bloody _tie_ could yet hold the number one position in Tonks' mind an entire seven days after the fact. There were Dark Wizards to chase by day, Department of Mystery doors to guard by night.

Granted, those shifts were tedious, and the more times he was sat outside that door, the more _un_constantly vigilant he found himself carrying out the duty. Maybe he wasn't alone in that experience. Maybe Tonks, too, wiled away the hours under the stuffy Invisibility Cloak by reliving their kisses at her door...and the ones that had followed, in her lounge...Fantastic as that seemed, it _wasn't_ beyond the realm of possibility, was it? She'd asked without any hesitation at all where her favourite place was to be kissed. Almost as if her security question had been planned, and she'd been waiting for his knock...

In that case, he'd best not disappoint her. Dopey grin stretching (He decided he _hoped _the whole world saw it, because who could be ashamed of the fact that a beautiful woman asked him to analyse the way he'd kissed her, and how she'd responded?), he got down to the business of puzzling out what was Nymphadora Tonks' favourite place to be kissed.

Surprisingly, after a moment's thought, he decided that if this question had been on one of his OWL examination, he'd hgave got a Troll.

He'd filled nearly every idle moment since their date kissing her over and over again in his mind (to the great frustration of Sirius, who kept pressing him for descriptions), recalling in detail as vivid as that shade of pink she wore sometimes, and which he secretly wished she would wear more often, the supple press of her lips against his, the heat of her breath on his mouth when his tongue coaxed her lips apart. It seemed like apples to oranges to compare the low, sighing hum she'd made then, to the way she'd inhaled sharply and caught her lower lip between her teeth, as he'd trailed light kisses over her cheekbone, or to her girlish laughter and the way she arched into him even as his nips at her neck made her shiver and squirm.

"Hello?" came Tonks' muffled voice, now just on the other side of the door. "Is Remus out there, thinking too much, or was it an Avon witch calling, and she ran off thinking I'd propositioned her?"

Choking back a chuckle, Remus answered, "On your doorstep, after a date, under a starlit sky?"

He took a startled step backward as the door swung open, and Tonks' laughter tripped out -- as did she, over the dangling belt of her fluffy pink dressing gown when it got tangled around her yellow slipper-clad feet. Remus reached out to steady her, but Tonks had already shot out an arm to catch the doorjamb.

"Wotcher, Remus!"

His heart beat double-time to hear her customary greeting he hadn't realised he'd got so fond of; triple to hear it followed by his name, pronounced in such eager tones by a witch with pale blue hair (which, he suspected had just been towel-dried, because it more closely resembled a tuft of candy floss than her usual spiked coif) and dark eyes that shone with enthusiasm. The wild rhythm in his chest stole his breath, made him light-headed. He barely remembered that it was customary to return a greeting -- especially that sort, bid you by a witch you fancied and hadn't seen in a week -- and was a little dismayed to hear his own _good morning _come out a good deal quieter than _her_ salutation, though he was every bit as pleased to see her as she apparently was to see him. Hardly starting on the right foot, especially since he'd copped out of answering her question about kissing. It would be so easy for her to misconstrue, especially if she was nervous, as he'd been, that their feelings were not the same as they had been at the end of their date. She'd tripped; she was so terribly self-conscious of her clumsiness, she might think it had somehow diminished her in his eyes, when in reality he found it impossibly cute, even if it did make his heart lurch from time to time...Yes, she was blushing. Dear Merlin, he'd mucked this up quickly...

But then it struck him that the colour on her cheeks was more a glow than a flush, and her eyes crinkled into lovely dark half-moons as they peered up at him, dancing and laughing, making him want to dance and laugh. (If he'd thought a dopey grin was something he hadn't wanted her to see, dancing was a far more troubling prospect. Still, if she were to ask him to...)

"Sorry I left you standing out here so long," she said -- looking anything but apologetic.

"You learnt constant vigilance from Alastor Moody. You had to wait till I proved my identity."

"Actually..." Tonks ducked her head in a manner Remus knew well to be shy; but he also he had a close, life-long acquaintance with theat particular gleam that was in her eye, and knew it conquered shyness every time. "It was a less vigilance than trying to make up my mind which bit of me seemed like the most Remusy one--"

"--so was I--"

"--but I should've known the most Remusy thing would be a bit more creative than that."

He felt the grin threaten to split wider at her compliment, but the creativity she praised compelled him to force the muscles of his face to form a frown, instead. When he managed a _hmm _that sounded convincingly dubious, he silently congratulated himself on his Marauder theatrical skills; and he nearly broke into applause when he passed the test of not grinning at the adorably perplexed dimple that formed between Tonks eyebrows when her smile fell.

"What?" she asked.

"Would it have been more creative in a Remusy way if I'd said, 'Why don't you let me _show _you your favourite place to be kissed?"

The wrinkle between her eyebrows disappeared vanished as they shot up, disappearing into her messy blue fringe. For just a second, her surprise made Remus doubt whether that level of flirtation was really allowed at this hour of the morning, when you'd only taken a girl out _once_. Wrong-footed, he leant a hand against the door jamb. Her hand was still there, though, and when his fingers inadvertently brushed hers, and he heard her breathe in, and saw bite that lower lip again, and she turned those lovely dark eyes coyly up to him, Gryffindor Courage -- or Marauder Resolve -- regained command.

"Or would that have been _too_ creative," he went on, allowing his fingers to curl over hers as he stepped closer, so that they stood toe-to-toe in the open doorway, "and made you take me for a Death Eater?"

"I'm not sure I'd have cared if you _were_."

The hem of Tonks' dressing gown brushed his legs as she leant into him. He could smell that orange blossom scent he'd noticed on their date, and guessed since she'd just got out of the shower, that it was her soap. It was a heady thing, knowing what flavour scent of soap she used. His fingers trailed down to stroke the curve of her wrist.

"All these years," he murmured, "I've been operating under the delusion that Aurors were Dark Wizard _chasers_, when in reality you're Dark Wizard _kissers_."

Remus had known a kiss was coming, but he hadn't realised until the last word was muffled against her soft, flushed cheek, that he'd actually leant in to do it. He heard her breath hitch, as he'd remembered it doing a week ago, so he pulled back just slightly, to see if she'd caught her lip between her teeth, as well. She had done; and the sight of it filled him the irresistible urge to capture it between his own. Again she made the satisfied hum into his mouth, but Remus couldn't decide, as her fingers brushed his fringe, and trailed down his face, whether he'd come any closer to discovering her favourite place to be kissed, or if he'd only got more confused about which was _his _favourite place to kiss her.

He released her lips and kissed downward from her chin, to see if her neck cleared anything up for her, when the plush sleeve of her dressing gown as his hand slid up her arm reminded him how early it was in the day -- or in the relationship, for that matter -- for that sort of kissing, especially when he hadn't seen her in seven days. -- for that sort of kissing.

Brushing one last kiss across her cheek, he straightened, lacing her fingers through his as he grinned down at the girlish face that fairly glowed up at him. She made him feel ten years younger -- fifteen, even -- no, took him back to his school days when the attention of a pretty girl made him giddy and nervous enough to blurt out things like, "Pyjama day in the Auror office?"

Tonks' dark eyes darted downward, and for an instant Remus' heart lurched with the fear that he'd embarrassed her (she was wearing fluffy yellow Pygmy Puff slippers, after all, and might have thought he was making fun), but she said,

"Undercover assignment in the South Pacific. Lead on Sirius. Bedtime there, you know." She rolled her eyes, and then looked herself over disapprovingly, fingers working self-consciously through her hair. "Sorry, I meant to be dressed, but then a memo came and clothes when right out of my head."

"Is everything all right at the Ministry?"

"Fine." Tonks turned and strode back into her flat, motioning for Remus to follow "Better than it has been, actually, since certain people resembling frogs won't be about. But unfortunately Hogwarts will be...what's the opposite of graced?"

"Cursed?" Remus offered, feeling slightly dizzied by the shift in her mood and their conversation as he followed her winding route through piles of paper and clothing and dirty dish clutter. It hadn't been precisely _tidy _when he'd been here last week, but it seemed impossible so much could have accumulated in the time between, considering how little she was home. Of course, how little she was home accounted for her lack of time to clean.

"That's it," Tonks said. "Hogwarts will be cursed with her toady presence."

Remus, reaching into his coat pocket for the rReduced jars of marmalade, nearly dropped them as he stopped short a few steps from the dining table, from which Tonks was clearing away a number of papers.

"What, in the name of Merlin, has Dolores Umbridge got to do with Hogwarts?"

"Look at this." Tonks thrust a sheet of parchment at him, creased and rumbled as if it had been wadded into a ball, then flattened out again. "Announcement from Fudge. I'm sure the _Prophet_'ll have a similar story in a day or two, once all the official business is sorted."

"Are you sure it's all right for me to read this?" Remus asked, even though she'd handed over far more classified Ministry documents than this.

"You've got to have something to do while I'm pottering about getting breakfast." Tonks took the miniature orange and lime marmalades from him and took them to the kitchen of her tiny open plan flat. As she enlarged them and set them on the table she asked, "How do you like your eggs? Not that it matters much, since no matter what sort I try, they always wind up scrambled."

"Scrambled's fine," Remus said, chuckling at her, and at the brightly coloured embellishments that drew his eye away from the text, to the bottom corner of the memo.

It was a photograph, but Tonks had charmed it to remain motionless, like a Muggle one. The subject, who wore a pink cardigan over Ministry of Magic official's robe, obviously had been Dolores Umbridge. However, in ink, Tonks had elongated the nose and chin, added a liberal smattering of warts, and coloured the skin green. Atop her coif was perched a wide-brimmed black hat.

"Professor Burbage still shows _The Wizard of Oz _to the Muggle Studies classes, does she?" Remus asked, looking up at Tonks to avoid reading the memo, which he was sure would spoil his mood.

But the sight of Tonks, jaw set and eyes hard as she cracked eggs almost savagely into a skillet, was just as effective.

Without any real humorous inflection, he joked, "I can't believe I never saw the resemblance between her and the Wicked Witch of the West 'til now."

"Umbridge wrote proposed a new Educational Decree," Tonks said, flinging a shell into the bin. "Today it'll be passed into law. Read what it is."

Clearing his throat, begging Merlin to let it be something trivial, given the creative manner in which Tonks had chosen to express her frustration, Remus read aloud from the memo: "_In the event that the headmaster of Hogwarts is unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person_."

His heart stood still.

"Dear God," he said. It wasn't trivial at all. "Dumbledore's not filled the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Don't tell me they've--"

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Appointed Umbridge to it, yeah," Tonks did for him.

_Damn_.

Feeling his fingers start to crumple the parchment into his fist, he willed himself to lay it on the nearby dining table, which was strewn with the assortment of coloured quills Tonks had used to embellished the image. His own personal ill feelings toward Umbridge aside, Remus could not think of a worse thing for Dumbledore, for Harry, than for the Ministry to appoint a Voldemort denier to what was now the singlemost important part of the Hogwarts curriculum.

"_Enitor _eggs," said Tonks, flicking her wand over the skillet to cast the Scrambling Charm. "Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?"

"I shared a dormitory with Sirius for seven years," Remus joked lamely. "What do you think?"

"What's she going to teach the kids, that's what I want to know. How to pass sodding discriminatory legisla--_Bugger_!" Tonks interrupted herself, glaring at the skillet. "My _Enitors _always make the eggs go dry. I'm sorry, Remus. I've got a couple more, if you'd like to have a go."

"Mine always make them runny," said Remus, looking round the kitchen and spotting the breadbox. "If you don't mind me invading your breadbox, I'll be happy to do the toast."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Afraid I'll burn it?" But a smile played at her mouth.

Remus got out the bread, and hoped there would be no more talk of Umbridge. Despite the subject of their conversation, they were still moving comfortably about the kitchen together. But they ought to be flirting, exchanging half-bashful glances and laughing softly as they brushed against one another in the tiny space. He didn't want breakfast with Tonks to be yet another thing he missed out on because of Dolores Umbridge's decrees.

But Tonks let a cupboard door slam shut as she took out two plates to spoon the eggs onto. With a groan of frustration between clenched teeth, she said, "It's insulting to Hogwarts, insulting to Dumbledore, and most of all insulting to _you_--"

"To me?" Remus nearly toasted his hand along with the bread as he turned sharply toward her.

"After that fiasco with Barty Crouch, Jr., they should have _begged_ you to come back."

Despite the fact that a lovely girl was wound up on his behalf, Remus wished she wouldn't be. He'd tried very hard, since the subject had come up, not to think about the fact that Umbridge would be filling _his _post -- the post he had loved and, if he did say so himself, carried out more than proficiently.

"On the contrary." His voice was low and gravely, and almost blended with the scrape of butter across the toast. "After having a werewolf _and _a Death Eater in the post, I am hardly surprised the Ministry would step in to appoint a teacher."

Tonks summoned the teakettle and tapped her wand to it. Her voice accompanied the shrill whistle blast. "But _Umbridge_?"

Remus wished he had not given into several whinging sessions with Sirius over Umbridge's anti-werewolf laws. Complaining never accomplished anything -- especially when you did it in front of other people -- except get you and them fraught over things you had no control of. Things always seemed worse when other people were worked up over them.

"I agree," he said, not meeting Tonks' eyes as he picked up their plates of toast and eggs. "She isn't the best choice."

Carrying their food to the table, he felt her stare boring into his back.

"Do you know what she said to me last time I saw her?" Tonks asked, sweeping the writing paraphernalia from the table as she plonked down their mugs of tea. She shoved one across the surface (emblazoned with the image of two bearded gnomes sporting red pointy hats, and the slogan, _Chillin' with my Gnomies_), to Remus, indicating for him to take a seat.

He did, and took a bite of his toast.

"My hair was pink hair that day," Tonks began, and..."

Remus choked on his toast as, without warning, her pretty, heart-shaped face widened and flattened into the toad-like one of Dolores Umbridge.

"_Hem hem_," she coughed, "Miss Tonks, though I myself am quite partial to pink…."

With another _hem, hem_, she transfigured her dressing gown into Umbridge's cardigan. Remus tried to focus on the pattern of winged horses soaring across a flannel sky full of fluffy clouds.

"…But you had best not get too attached to your…_hair_."

The last word was laced with such disdain that Remus felt self-conscious about his own too-long, greying hair.

"I believe, _hem, hem, _that the Ministry of Magic employee dress code stipulates that hair must be…_hem, hem_…of a _natural _colour."

Mercifully wearing her own face and dressing gown again, Tonks said, "So I asked, what if pink were my natural colour?"

Again, Remus reacted physically – this time by dropping too many lumps of sugar into his tea – when Tonks took on Umbridge's form.

"Yes, well," she said in syrupy tones, "I know pink hair is not a _Black_ family trait. Or a Tonks trait, either, even if some Muggles _are_ so eccentric as to…_hem, hem_…dye their hair."

Quickly metamorphosing back to herself, Tonks placed her hands on the table and leant toward Remus, with an intense expression. "When I argued that pink might be natural for Metamorphmagi, Umbridge said…"

She adopted Umbridge's sneering form for the third time. "_Hem, hem, _I am fairly certain that pink is not a natural hair colour -- not even among magical folk who merely appear to be human."

Remus swallowed his tea so abruptly that it went down his windpipe. Tonks looked rather alarmed as he coughed, and she rose slightly, looking for a moment as if she might spring across the table and pound his back. Soon enough, he stopped and caught his breath.

"M-merely ap-apear," he sputtered. "Merely appear to be -- Please, do put your own face back, Tonks." When she had put herself to rights, Remus tried again, in controlled tones. "Metamorphmagi merely _appear_ to be human? Umbridge said that?"

"That she did." Tonks stabbed her knife into the orange marmalade, breaking the smooth, unused layer, and sloppily spread it over her toast. "She couldn't have stunned me any more if she'd hexed me."

"It's just as well you were speechless." Remus took a slow, careful sip of tea. "Umbridge always gets the last word."

"Now do you see why I coloured her green?"

Noting a tremble her voice, and a pained expression behind her laughter, he reached across the table and pressed her hand. "I'm sorry, Tonks."

"I don't care what she thinks of me," she said with a sigh, "but it really pisses me off that people can be such bigots."

Withdrawing her hand, she plopped into her chair and stabbed her eggs with her fork. She took a bite, grimaced and muttered about the eggs being too dry, and washed them down with a gulp of tea.

"Let's have those runny eggs of yours next time, okay?" she said.

Remus grinned that she wanted to do this again, with him, even though the conversation hadn't been ideal.

"Hope I don't run into her today." She took a big bite of toast and, covering her full mouth, added, "Prob'ly get myself sacked."

Remus could just imagine Tonks going out of her way to aggravate Umbridge. "She's not worth it."

"Sometimes I think my job's not worth it."

"Of course it is," Remus said, "and you don't mean that. You worked very hard to qualify for the Auror programme."

She snorted. "Maybe I wouldn't have if I'd known I'd work for the likes of Dolores Umbridge."

"You don't work for Umbridage."

"But I work for Fudge, and _he _seems to work for his Undersecretary, doesn't he?" Cramming the rest of her toast into her mouth, she chewed for a moment, then said, "Should've followed my other dream, of becoming a Weird Sisters roadie. Only can't you see me tripping over Merton Graves' cello and putting a foot through it?"

Remus couldn't sop himself sniggering at the image.

Tonks simpped her tea sulkily. "Make me feel completely useless, won't you?"

Chuckling, Remus said, "Well I, for one, am very glad you followed the Auror dream, and not the Weird Sisters roadie one, because it's not likely you'd have crossed paths with the Order, is it?"

"With the Order?" Tonks asked, quirking a brow over her sparkling eyes. "Or with you?"

Remus felt his grin spreading as warmth prickled upward from his collar. He leant over the table, and started to reach for her hand again, but suddenly her gaze swerved from his, over his shoulder and upward.

He turned and followed her gaze to the mantel clock, which surprised him by showing a quarter to eight. That much time couldn't have passed, could it? She'd only just brought him inside.

Of course...Merlin knew how long they'd spent _outside_.

"I've got to go!" Tonks leapt up, kneeing the table and upsetting her tea. "Ouch, sodding--" She reached for her wand to clean up the mess, but Remus sent her off to dress while he took care of the washing up.

Clearing away the breakfast things, Remus' thoughts wandered over what this new development would mean to the Order, how Umbridge's presence would effect communications with Dumbledore at Hogwarts -- and Sirius with Harry. He trusted that the Headmaster would, as always, find a way around the obstacle, but Remus was at a loss to discover how this could be anything but problematic at every turn.

And he hoped that when the rest of the Order found out, there wouldn't be more talk like what he'd just had with Tonks, about him and the Defence post.

He tried not to think of it as he did the washing up charms, and luckily as soon as he'd started to guess which dishes went in which cupboards, Tonks blundered noisily from her bedroom, swearing under her breath as she rammed into a sofa side table.

Remus turned to ask if she was all right, but a grin broke across his face when her hair was vivid pink.

"Will you come over every day and do my washing up?" she asked as she pulled on her Auror's robes over a rumpled shirt and trousers.

"Unfortunately," said Remus, "one of the side effects of lycanthropy is that we can only take care of the washing up one morning a month."

"They didn't teach us that in Defence Against the Dark Arts." Tonks grabbed her satchel off the rack by the front door, and slung it over her shoulder.

"That's unfortunateToo bad," said Remus, helping her gather the papers she'd cleared from the table, which she stuffed into her bag. "That month's worth of dishes breeds all manner of dangerous dark things ."

"Oh, well black mould was covered in Herbology."

Their laughter abruptly stopped as Remus handed over the last of the papers, fingers brushing hers, and their eyes locked. For a moment they just looked, Tonks fumbling with the clasp of her bag, and then suddenly her lips pressed briefly, firmly, to his cheek.

"Thanks for coming over and bringing the marmalade," she said. "I'll stop by Grimmauld after work."

Remus' heart leapt that she wanted to see him again, _today_, until he remembered that he had the second guard shift.

"Right," said Tonks as they stepped outside and she cast the wards over the door. "We can at least talk over tea, though?"

"Indeed."

"Good," she said. "Cos I really want to finish this conversation."

Remus heart fell, with a thud. Finish the conversation? He'd thought it was over, that her bit of pink-haired defiance was her way of getting over it. But apparently he'd thought wrong. What more could possibly be said on the matter, though? The flicker in Tonks' eyes made him dread finding out.

But before he could read her expression and discern the unsettling point, Tonks kissed his cheek again. This time she lingered, her lips soft and sweet, and his mind flitted back to her flirtation about her favourite body part to have kissed. Perhaps it was _that _conversation she wanted to finish.

He turned his head to return the affectionate gesture, planning to work his way from cheek to mouth, then maybe down to her neck after all, if she responded like he hoped she would--

--but just as his lips brushed her cheek, her smooth, fair complexion changed.

Green.

Warty.

To his horror, he caught a glimpse of Wicked Witch of the Ministry _winking_ at him before she Disapparated.

As he walked back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Remus did his best not to think about the fact that he had, in a way, just kissed Dolores Umbridge. He hoped he wouldn't have nightmares about his lips pressing against the green, bumpy cheek…Cringing, he made a mental note that when he saw Tonks tonight, he would make her swear an Unbreakable Vow never to metamorphose into that person ever again.

Or else they would never be able to finish that conversation.

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_**A/N: Thanks for reading this installment of Transfigured Hearts. As incentive to tell me what you think, reviewers will receive a Remus to help them discover their favorite places to be kissed, or a Tonks to do magical derogatory artwork of your arch-nemesis.**_


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

"Well, well," said Sirius, blinking at the fiery red-headed woman who blundered into the basement kitchen of twelve Grimmauld. "If only I hadn't heard the thunk of that bloody umbrella stand, a stream of swear words I'm pretty sure only Aurors know, and my dear old mum going on about shape-shifting half-blooded freaks, I'd have sworn you were a long-lost Weasley daughter."

Remus laughed as Tonks swatted her cousin on the back of the head as she made her way round the table.

"Oi!" Sirius shot her a playful glare under his heavy black eyebrows. "Don't hit me because I expected you to come in pink and perky, like Remus said you were this morning, for him."

"Actually..." Remus felt pink himself, though not particularly perky, staring at the chair instead of the witch he was drawing it out for, whose inquisitive dark eyes he felt as she hung her satchel over the back. "I said Tonks' hair was blue when I arrived at her flat, and pink before she left for work. Presumably an act of defiance toward Dolores Umbridge."

"And _I_ said you're a daft prat." Sirius tilted his chair on its back legs. "Go on, Tonks. Tell Moony pink's the colour you wear for him. We've been going round and round about it all day, and I've got twenty galleons against Dung on it."

Remus couldn't think of a more far-fetched notion than Tonks having a hair colour she wore _for him_ -- after all, she'd gone orange for their first date, as well as blue this morning. Even so, he found himself searching her face for a blush or a bitten lip or furtive sidelong glance or some other sign that would confirm Sirius' claim. There was something about her expression that seemed self-conscious. Of course, that didn't mean she was pleased people thought she might consider other their opinions when choosing hair colours. In fact, he had a pretty good feeling people who wore pink or blue or any other unnatural hair colour, didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of it.

Though, he hoped she knew he thought of it a great deal, and thought well of it, too. He felt the faintest prick of disappointment when she plopped into her chair and declared, "Remus is right. It is Umbridge rebellion.".

Sirius smirked. "_Was_, you mean, since you're not pink anymore. Obviously you haven't been listening to our Marauder stories, or you'd know it was Prongs that fancied redheads, not Moony."

"This is still Umbridge rebellion," Tonks replied absently, then turned suddenly to Remus with a glow in her eyes that made him catch his breath. Her small hand found his under the table. "Wotcher, you."

"Hello." His thumb scuffed her skin, and his pulse fluttered erratically in his wrist to see her smile widen in response. "Tea?"

Immediately he wished he could have thought of a more creative thing to say, but he felt incapable of putting more words than that together in a coherent thought.

Apparently, given the grateful, weary look that crept into her smile, it was the best thing he could have said. "Merlin, yes."

"I set out a cup for you," Remus said, releasing her hand to summon one from the cupboard, "but Sirius, the greedy git, nicked it."

Mouth full of biscuit, Sirius raised the mug in salute, then threw back a swig as though it were Firewhiskey. Remus couldn't be sure his mate hadn't laced his tea with a shot.

"Why red-haired rebellion, Nymphadora?" Sirius asked. Before she could swallow her tea to protest his use of her Christian name, ignoring her eyes blazing over the rim of her cup, he went on: "Only it's a bit tame for someone that said you weren't human, and then took over a Dark Creature's teaching post."

"It's not my post, Padfoot," said Remus quietly.

His jaw tightened and his neck burned as Tonks' arm brushed his as she sat up straight, and felt her eyes watching him. He knew Sirius well enough to know hadn't used the term _Dark Creature_ except to make a point, but Tonks didn't. Given how defensive she'd got this morning...

But she only asked, "You told him?"

Thank Merlin she hadn't followed Sirius' train of thought; but Remus was hardly relieved. It had never occurred to him that she hadn't intended to reveal that information to the Order. "I hope it was all right?"

"Fine," she said. "Just don't let the kids hear. It's not public knowledge yet, and I don't want them to spend the rest of the summer dreading the start of term."

Sirius nodded his understanding as he reached for another biscuit, but impatiently repeated, "The red hair?"

"When I got to work this morning," Tonks replied, looking at Remus, "Umbridge had made an addendum to the dress code: Ministry employees may only have _natural_ hair colours -- natural excludes pink, purple, blue, green--"

"Umbridge specified pink?" Remus was astonished that the Undersecretary to the Minister would make such a pointed barb at Tonks, though he supposed he shouldn't be.

"That she did," said Tonks in a low tone of disgust. "First colour on the list. So, instead of Tonks brown or Black black, I went Weasley red to annoy her."

Sirius' barking laughter, tinged with bitterness, rang through the kitchen. "I knew there had to be someone in the family who thought like me!"

Abruptly, he stood and, with a light-hearted air Remus hadn't seen in his mate since they'd moved into Grimmauld Place, bowed dramatically. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll actually stop annoying you two lovebirds so I can do my godfatherly duty."

"Godfatherly duty?" Remus repeated dubiously as Sirius' long strides carried him toward the stairs.

Long hair swirling, Sirius turned and flashed the smile which contained a flicker of his old flamboyant, appealing devilishness. "I've got to find out whether Harry's people-annoying skills have got rusty over the summer. He'll needs them sharp if he's got to put up with Snivellus _and_ Umbridge, as well."

The legs of Remus' chair screeched as he pushed back from the table and stood. "Tonks was right. The children shouldn't be told." He regretted telling Sirius.

Once-handsome features looking harsher and more haggard than ever as his mood shifted, Sirius' eyes glinted like sharp silver blades. "You don't think Harry deserves fair warning? Kid can handle Dementors, but Umbridge--"

"The last thing Harry needs," replied Remus mildly, "is to be poisoned to her before he sets foot in her classroom."

"_Your_ classroom!" Sirius fired back. "As if the toad won't poison Harry to her without my help!"

It was true enough, and Remus wasn't sure how to argue his own stance beyond the fact that it simply wasn't right to forewarn Harry. _Why_ wasn't it? Couldn't they at least tell Harry to tread carefully?

"Of course she will," Tonks said, also getting to her feet, "but Remus is right. Much as I loathe Umbridge, my grudge is personal."

Instantly, Remus' conviction returned in full force to have Tonks standing -- literally as well as figuratively -- by his side. He felt an urge to take her hand, in a show of solidarity, but refrained when an inner voice mocked his dramatics.:

"Plus Harry likes Remus," Tonks went on. "Of course he'll get pissed off about someone who's made his favourite professor's life difficult."

"Even more reason to tell him," said Sirius. "Just think of it: Harry Potter, champion of werewolf rights. Channel that Granger girl's energy in something more productive than wages for sodding house-elves--"

Remus interrupted with a sarcastic laugh. "As if Harry's championing of Voldemort's return has worked out so well for him."

For a moment, Sirius fixed him with a cold stare, then he flicked his hair over his shoulder with an air of unconcern and drawled to Tonks, "If you're going to keep going out with him, you should probably know that Moony never willingly lets anyone try to make his life less miserable--"

"My life's not mis--"

"God-awful martyr complex."

"Don't be like this." Remus raked his fingers through his hair.

"Like what? A caring friend? The godfather Harry's never had?"

_Like a man who, though genuinely caring, would not hesitate to get his friends wound up for his own amusement._

Aloud, Remus said, "I'm not playing this game with you, Padfoot."

His eyes locked in a fierce staring duel with Sirius' until Tonks took Remus' arm and gently tugged him back into his chair.

Sirius threw up his hands. "Fine," he said darkly, glaring from beneath his heavily knit brows. "My lips are sealed till Harry writes from Hogwarts demanding to know why I didn't warn him about Umbridge."

The steely gaze bore into Remus for another moment, then Sirius turned to descend the stairs.

"Padfoot," Remus began, but Tonks spoke at the same time, the feminine octave of her voice carrying over his in the cavernous kitchen.

"Take this with you." She twisted in her chair to delve into her satchel. She pulled out a crumpled parchment, and unfolded it to reveal her modified photograph of Umbridge. "This ought to cheer you up."

Sirius summoned it with a silent, weary flick of his wand. For a moment he stared at it, stony-faced, but then Remus noted the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"God," Sirius snorted. "Didn't think the bitch could get any uglier if she used a Grow-Your-Own-Warts Kit."

"Pin it up in Buckbeak's room," said Tonks, "and throw darts at her."

"Only charm it so if Harry comes up it'll look like a Playwitch centrefold or something," Remus added.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "He may not have cottoned on to the pair of you being all cow-eyed over each other, but I think he'd notice something off about me throwing darts at a pin-up. Thanks, Tonks," he said with a faint nod, stuffing the parchment into his pocket. "Now see if you can't find more ways to annoy Umbridge, and lighten Moony up, as well, okay?"

When he had disappeared up the stairs, and the sound of his heavy footsteps above had died, Remus leant back in his chair and heaved a sigh as he ran a hand over his face. "He tires me."

"I egged him on," Tonks said, frowning at the stairs. She turned to Remus and smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"No need to be." Remus sipped his tea and grimaced. It had gone cold. Getting up again, and grabbing the kettle, he said, "You turned him from angry to sarcastic. That means he'll be over it soon."

Tonks nodded, her smile still small and, he thought, not quite like herself. She looked tired -- her eyes were too bright, and fixed, and there were faintly purple crescents in hollows beneath -- and he'd noticed it before now, even if he hadn't precisely registered it. He should have inquired...And now she was massaging her temples as though she had a headache.

"Fresh cup?" Remus asked.

"Hm? Oh..." She looked into her mug of un-drunk tea. "I'll just do a Warming Charm."

Remus _tsk_ed and gently pulled it from her slack grip. "Nonsense. You can't re-warm tea."

Impulsively, he stooped and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. As he straightened, she looked up at him. In spite of the fatigue written all over her face, he couldn't help but notice the curve of her jaw down to her throat, which, that morning, he had stopped himself from kissing. Would he get to do that before his shift at the Department of Mysteries? He'd spent a large portion of today puzzling out the mystery of whether he would do. Was it just his imagination -- his tendency toward wishful thinking which he found himself indulging far more frequently than he'd previously felt comfortable doing since she'd come into his life -- or did she really look a little less tired now than she had a moment ago?

Impossible. He'd believe it if he'd given her soothing tea already; but he'd only offered it.

Yet her eyes were wide and soft with what was unmistakably _gratitude_.

He swallowed hard against a lump that seemed to stop the flow of air to his lungs.

_What did that look mean? What did she think he'd done for her?_

"I'm a bit wound up today," said Tonks, "in case you hadn't noticed."

"I had," said Remus, letting his arm brush her shoulder as he turned to the sink to empty their tepid tea. "It happens to the best of us."

"It was Umbridge all day long at the Ministry," she said.

Though Remus wanted to encourage her, and wanted to let her talk if she needed, his shoulders tensed at the thought of her parting words, about wanting to continue their breakfast conversation.

"No one talked about anything but the new Educational Decree and the other legislation she's passed into Magical Law."

"Well, you're away from the Ministry now," Remus said. "You don't have to hear about Umbridge or her decrees and legislation -- or her hair colour bigotry -- any more today."

He smiled over his shoulder at her, and hoped she would take the hint to change the subject -- but Tonks continued as though she hadn't even heard him.

"Of course Fudge gave her a big send-off. Made me sick to hear him go on about all her public works." She snorted, opening and closing flexed fingers on top of the table. "I wanted to stand up and ask Fudge how he'd the guts to call them _public_ works when not all the public benefit from them."

Dropping the teabags into the mugs, Remus prayed in vain for her to tire of the subject before she got to the point he was sure she'd been leading up to.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she said. Ordinarily it was a sentence that would have stolen sweetly through him, producing that dopey grin again, but it didn't have that effect when her fingers were balled into fists on the table and it was followed by, "Because of that...that...I can't even think of anything enough bad enough to call Umbrage...you can't find work--"

Now Remus' palms were moist with perspiration. Wiping them on the legs of his trousers, the worn fabric only exaggerated the conversation's juxtaposition of his lack of employment against her successful career among the most important people in the Wizarding community.

"Tonks--"

"--and now she's taking _your_ post--"

He tapped his wand to the kettle, and the shrill blast cut her off. In one last attempt to steer the conversation away from himself, he said, struggling to maintain a level tone, "Wouldn't it calm you more _not_ to discuss this?"

"I need to rant," Tonks answered quickly, almost flippantly to his ears. "And I'd really like to know how you feel. If _I'm_ this worked up, I can't imagine what it does to you."

Silently, Remus filled their teacups. The simple activity calmed his frazzled nerves somewhat and helped him regain perspective about the subject. Tonks wasn't _trying_ to make him uncomfortable. He was touched that she wanted to know how he felt about things; she was really very sweet to be upset on his behalf. It was a great deal more concern than he got from most people. He just had to make her see that her fretting was unnecessary, and that he didn't like to dwell on the things that upset him.

She thanked him when he placed her tea in front of her, but she said nothing else. Her dark eyes were trained on him as he slid into his seat. She was turned toward him, clearly waiting for him to speak, but Remus took his time, sipping his tea and eating a biscuit.

Finally, he said, "I can't afford to be ill about things that are beyond my control."

Tonks frowned briefly, then looked at him with, quite startlingly, _twinkling_ eyes. "But you do take _umbrage_ to her?"

Wincing, Remus said, "Wretched pun, Tonks. Absolutely wretched." But he laughed with her, welcoming the release of tension.

They drank their tea for another quiet moment, during which Tonks studied him. Her expression was serious, expectant even, and he could see that he hadn't offered enough about himself to satisfy her.

"Yes," Remus said slowly, "I do take umbrage at these things. But it's not just Umbridge."

"It's the whole bloody Ministry." Tonks put her cup down forcefully, sloshing tea almost purposely, as though to underscore her frustration. "I swear, sometimes they make me angrier than the Death Eaters. If only they'd reach out to the werewolves!"

Remus found himself smiling -- a real smile, not the placid one he'd forced so many times throughout this conversation in the attempt to curb it. "I'm flattered you're so…"

He scrabbled about his vocabulary for the correct word to describe her attitude. Studying her face for inspiration, he noticed that the set of her jaw was determined. No, that wasn't it, precisely. The emotion in her dark eyes was far deeper, more personal.

"Passionate," he said, without thinking, then found himself too aware of the connotations of the word to meet her eye. The fingers of one hand toyed with the handle of his mug; the others tugged at the long hair that had crept into his collar, making his neck itch.

"Your support is very zealous," he clarified, though he wasn't fooling himself, and was fairly certain he wasn't fooling a clever witch like her.

Especially since, under the table, his foot had developed a mind of its own, and decided that nudging hers in a flirty schoolboy way, was the thing to do. His mouth seemed to have done the same, he thought, as he heard himself say, in a low tone he didn't use for anyone else, "Only I'm afraid you're rather biased."

"Yeah. Just a bit..." Tonks flushed slightly, and drank her tea self-consciously.

Almost immediately, though, her eyes darted up to him again, holding him in a way that made Remus think wouldn't care if everyone else in the world turned into Dolores Umbridge, so long as there remained a Nymphadora Tonks to keep looking at him like that.

But she didn't.

Her gaze drifted again, and a little wrinkle formed at the bridge of her nose as her brows knit. "The Ministry ought to be making Wolfsbane Potion available to all the werewolves, and they ought to be educating the Wizarding community about lycanthropy." The earnest lines of her face deepened to form a scowl. "Instead, Umbridge encourages ignorance and fear. I can't help but hate her for that."

Remus noticed how tightly she clutched the handle of her teacup. Setting down his own, he brushed his fingertips across her knuckles. "Hatred expends a lot of energy."

Her grip relaxed beneath his fingers, but even though his touch had done what he'd hoped, he allowed it to linger.

"Don't waste any on people like Umbridge," he said. "In these times, you need it for so many other things."

It seemed like a wise thing to say. Indeed, he'd said it to others before. And it had been his own mantra for years.

"That's great, Remus," said Tonks, withdrawing her hand, "but it's not how you _feel_."

Tonks folded her arms across her chest. Settling back in her chair, she assumed a pose that made her seem almost intimidating. She left no doubt that she was an Auror, and a force to be reckoned with.

Remus' chest tightened as frustration mounted from the knot in his stomach. "Didn't you just tell Sirius that it wouldn't do for Harry to know about Umbridge and her anti-werewolf legislation, because it would be giving him _my_ grudge?"

Her mouth fell open, and for a second Remus thought he'd nipped the quarrel in the bud before it really could be called one. But then her nostrils flared, and her chin tucked jutted, stiff with defiance. "Don't call me a hypocrite."

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"It's different."

"How?"

"I--you--we--" Running out of pronouns, and apparently not sure what verbs to apply to them, Tonks sputtered, "Don't be stupid, Remus. It's different, and you know it."

Though his impulse was to argue, part of his mind asserted that she was right. People who were involved shared these things. But surely it couldn't be right, in any case, to share a grudge? At any rate, they'd only been on _one date_.

"Must you push this?" he asked.

Tonks' features softened, temper vanishing as though by magic. "I want to know you better," she said in the voice he'd earlier named passionate. She moved a hand, as though to reach for him, but stopped short. "I want to understand what it's like for you."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

He glanced at her hand, which it seemed she wanted him to take. When he wrapped his own fingers around hers, she looked pleased -- but then he moved her hand to her lap, and released it.

"You _can't_ understand what it's like," he told her, ignoring the little furrow that formed between her eyebrows as she frowned. I can't describe it. And talking about it only makes it worse."

"No." Tonks shook her head. "Talking helps. You're just not used to it."

Remus could no longer keep his frustration from boiling over. "What do you want me to say? Do I need to submit to you in writing that I resent Umbridge and the Ministry of Magic? _My own_ carelessness cost me the Hogwarts post. Since then I haven't found any other work, not even where I couldn't possibly be a danger. Because of that, I can never hope for stability, or to have a family--"

He stopped short. He'd let his emotions get the better of him, and he'd revealed too much.

_Far_ too much.

Tonks' face was white, and her eyes were wide and startled and -- Remus cringed -- _pitying_.

His head bowed. He couldn't look at her. He hated for anyone to look at him that way; _she_ never had before.

"Can't have a...? Remus, you don't think you can marry?"

Her tone of genuine disbelief compelled Remus to look up at her again, to see if her face matched her voice.

It did.

His gaze returned to the floor, to his scuffed and defeated shoes. "Surely you did not expect that I could?"

When he'd first realised his feelings for Tonks were more than platonic, he'd told himself he couldn't act on them. However, he'd been so enamoured of her -- and of her apparent interest in him -- that he'd allowed himself to. A date could just be a date, she'd said; it wasn't a lifetime commitment. And he'd allowed himself to be convinced. Had convinced himself, all along, really.

But obviously Tonks had considered the possibility of the long-term. Not with _him_, he could never flatter himself to _that_ extent, but in vague generality. And why shouldn't she? She was a bright, lovely young witch, at the age most people got married. Even if she was more career-minded at the moment, a husband and children were surely dreams her future would bring to fruition.

At least she ought to have the chance at that future.

Or the choice to have it.

For him, there were no choices. And if she was with him, there were none for her, either. Today's incessant talk of Umbridge had hammered _that_ into his head.

Remus stood, stiffly, not sure whether the creaking sound was from the ancient chair, or his own joints, stiffening as the moon waxed. "You shouldn't waste your time with me."

He avoided her gaze as he carried his teacup to the sink and cast a _scourgify_ spell over it. He still did not make eye contact with her as he started out of the kitchen.

"Remus, wait!" she called hoarsely when he was halfway up the stairs.

He heard the clattering sound of her chair as she presumably got up, but didn't turn, or break stride.

"I've got guard duty. Good night, Nymphadora."

He heard her call something about the conversation not being finished, and about Sirius being right about him not letting people in and having a martyr complex, and -- he assumed -- not to call her Nymphadora.

He didn't know for sure, because the last words were drowned out by Mrs. Black's portrait shrieking, "FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCT OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREED, MUTANT, FREAK, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!"

* * *

_**A/N: Those who leave feedback will receive personal messages of thanks from mature and level-headed Remus, who refuses to get worked up by the likes of Dolores Umbridge, and instead channels his energies into more pleasing endeavors, like Marauder pranks, or dating. Or, if you prefer, Tonks and Sirius will come make bad puns and other derogatory comments to make you feel personally vindicated about the people who make your life difficult.**_


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

Completing his shift at the Department of Mysteries, Remus was uncertain as to whether he had ever been more grateful for Apparation. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to vanish from the Ministry of Magic, reappear at Grimmauld Place, and fall into his bed, and go to sleep. He was exhausted: physically, from staying up all night; but even more so mentally, from having stayed up all night _thinking_. Guard duty required only awareness of his surroundings, and his mind had taken advantage of the freedom to wander.

If only it had actually wandered, instead of fixating on one thing: his row with Tonks.

A _row_.

With _Tonks_.

He could hardly believe it.

Disbelief kept him rooted to the Grimmauld porch steps, not opening the door, not going inside, not falling into bed, not silencing his mind with sleep. He could not have rowed with Tonks. He liked her so very much, one of the chief reasons being that, for all their apparent differences -- her youthful vivacity, his greying hair; her success and place in Wizarding society, his fringe existence which seemed unlikely ever to change; her newness to the demands of her work, much less soldiering, his worldly experience with loss -- they got on so well. Her quick, and often unconventional way of thinking complimented his, almost intuitively at times, and made her his favourite partner for assignments. How often did you come off a shift wanting to spend more time with your partner? Certainly not when you had duty with Mad-Eye.

Added to it all was the unmistakable fact that Tonks was a very pretty young woman. Not a beauty, like her mother, Sirius had been quick to say; but he had also allowed that given the other set of genes she had working against her -- which added up to a beer belly and male-pattern baldness -- she'd come out better than she might have.

Perhaps, in the traditional sense, Sirius was right; but attraction didn't bow to tradition, and Remus was, undoubtedly, attracted to Tonks. He really couldn't have stopped his feelings shifting to more than friendship, could he?

Not that he was entirely sure they'd ever been anything else.

The course of his adult life had not frequently thrown him into the company of available women -- at least not ones who struck his fancy, and certainly not ones who were interested in him in return. Even if anyone _had_ caught his attention, he would have been too conscious of all he lacked: clothes that hadn't been mended and patched a dozen times over; the means for dinners out, flowers, gifts; a flat worth bringing a girl to, should he be so lucky.

It wasn't that none of these things concerned him with Tonks; indeed, quite to the contrary, he wanted more than ever to be what she deserved. When he was with her, the headiness of the moment, the spark between them, pushed those feelings of inadequacy out of his mind. Her enthusiasm for creativity over custom, the quirkiness of her own style of dress (this morning she'd opened her door to him in pyjamas and Pygmy Puff slippers, after all), the opening of her own shabby enough flat, put them on even keel.

Then there was the way they simply _fit_, physically. His longer fingers curved perfectly around her slim hand; her head tucked neatly under his chin when they hugged; her lips moulded to his as if they were two interlocking puzzle pieces...

She was a rarity among witches, Nymphadora Tonks, and it had nothing to do with being a Metamorphmagus.

_She knew what he was._

Knew what he was...and _didn't care._

He could have had everything he'd never dared to want...

And he'd thrown it all away in one row.

Of course, it had been a great deal more than a petty quarrel, hadn't it? Perhaps it might have started out as one, but it had uncovered real differences of life outlook. _Did_ she know what he was, _truly_? She couldn't possibly...She was so _young_...It wouldn't be right for her to know. Her world view should remain unspoilt.

Sirius could say what he liked about Remus not letting people help him, and he would be right. It was _not_, however, a martyr complex. He deeply appreciated the people who wanted -- or thought they wanted -- to help him. The problem was, he had so little to give in return. Could his curse be anything but a burden?

From somewhere deep within, a small voice said that helping Remus had given Sirius the gift of Animagery, without which he'd have been destroyed.

No. Remus tapped his wand against the door of peeling black paint, and the clicking of bolts and rattling of chains drowned out the voice. Peter Pettigrew also had learnt Animagery because of him. Everyone knew how different things would be now if _that_ had never happened.

He held his breath as he entered, and stepped gingerly over the creaky floorboards. The slightest sounds set off Mrs. Black. He'd heard her epithets once tonight, and felt gloomy enough without another round reminding him that much as he'd like to believe there was a future for him -- as Tonks had seemed so surprised to learn he did not -- that nothing ever lasted for him.

And hadn't he gone into this conditionally enough? Just one date. He'd hoped for two or three, or ten or twenty, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn't been set on it happening.

The one thing he had not expected was such an unpleasant end. Never a row. Something more along the lines of Tonks greeting him before an Order meeting, and saying, _Wotcher, Remus. The first three dates were lovely, but this bloke at work asked me to have dinner with him, all right? See you at the Department of Mysteries..._

He _hated_ quarrelling. Worst of all, no matter what angle he examined theirs from, he couldn't think of anything he would have said differently to avoid it. He hadn't wanted to discuss Umbridge, but Tonks pushed him into revealing thoughts better left unspoken.

Oh well -- wiser to end it now, even on a sour note, than to have got much further with her. Less pain in the long run, for both parties. He knew this. Why couldn't he stop brooding?

Safely past Mrs. Black's portrait, Remus quickened his pace toward the staircase. He was distracted from his goal by a beam of light emanating from the double drawing room doors, which stood ajar. Compulsively, he stopped to check whether anyone was within, or whether a lamp had been left lit.

As though summoned, his gaze was drawn across the room, to one of the two settees stood perpendicular to the fireplace.

Curled up asleep, cuddling one of the water-stained velvet cushions that might at some long-past date have been green, but was now colourless grey, was Tonks.

_A pink-haired Tonks._

Whether because he was startled to see her, or because Sirius' earlier words about her wearing pink hair for him echoed mockingly in Remus' head, (and he was doubtful it was the former, as part of him said that he'd known perfectly well it would be her), he could think only of getting out of the drawing room, and stepped backward into the door jamb. _Damn it_, he cursed silently as Tonks stirred at the bump. Before he could turn, her dark eyes opened.

Opened -- on him.

Remus stood, one hand on the doorknob as though Stunned, and watched the sleepy look in her eyes fade into the brightness of dawning alertness.  
She sat up, the cushion falling to the floor with a little puff of dust, and rubbed her eyes. "Wotcher, Remus."

Her voice was husky from slumber, and it set a longing coursing through him to go to her, to sit facing her on the edge of the settee and smooth her dishevelled mass of pink hair back into a more intentional state of disarray as he kissed her in a proper greeting. But he remained where he was, clutching the doorknob. Because a kiss wasn't the proper greeting now. She wasn't here waiting up for him as a coupley gesture. She was waiting because they'd rowed, and he'd walked out on her. She had to have her say.

"It's very late," he said, stiffly, instead of acting on impulse. "You should be at home."

Slim shoulders tensing, twitching cheek muscle thrown into relief by the lamplight, she muttered, "Nice to see you, too."

Remus opened his mouth to shoot back that though he'd love to argue with her again, he really had to be going, but he bit his tongue. No matter how much he wished Tonks would just let this go, he wasn't angry at _her_.

_Never_ at her.

In fact, he wasn't sure _angry_ really described how he felt at all.

And when her features softened, and her eyes, so large and dark, held him _gently_, Remus realised that there was no anger on her side, either.

"I couldn't go home," she said. "I wouldn't have slept a wink, when Merlin knows how long it would be before I saw you again to finish our discussion."

Though Remus had expected to hear those words, he was absolutely unprepared for the paralysing, knee-weakening sensation that came over him. Exactly like what he experienced one night every month as he, naked, vulnerable, never mind his supposed Gryffindor courage, awaited the rise of the full moon.

_Dread._

"Tonks...It's late," he said again, even as he shut the doors behind him, and leant heavily against them.

"I'm sorry," she said, simply, and without preliminaries, in very Tonks-like fashion. "You don't like to dwell on your problems. I'm a wallower, myself, so I don't really get that. But I should've respected you. I shouldn't have pushed. I'm sorry."

Remus' throat felt tight, choked. Certainly he was relieved at her understanding of him. But unfortunately, understanding didn't change his mind one iota about the conclusions he'd drawn in the hours since he'd last seen her.

She was looking at him with her eyebrows raised, and her lips just slightly parted, as though she wanted to ask a question.

Or as though she expected him to say something.

Somehow, though it was absurd given the way he'd behaved at tea, he doubted that what this optimistic young witch expected him to say was that her understanding of him meant, even more necessarily, that their brief romance must end. It made his heart leap to think that he'd got involved with the sort of girl who believed rends could be patched up -- that she wanted to mend things with him; at the same time, it plunged to the pit of his stomach to imagine her lovely dark eyes bent with disappointment when he told her patches only covered holes, which the fabric eventually would pull away from. And wasn't he, in his patched robes, an expert on that?

But Merlin, he couldn't bear the thought of being the one to burst her bubble.

He heard himself say, "Apology accepted."

Fine lines crossed Tonks' pale face. Oh yes, he'd _certainly_ spared her feelings. He wished he'd learnt that Self-flagellation Charm Padfoot and Prongs had always said would be very useful to him.

"Thank you," he said in an attempt to recover. "I'm sorry as well."

One of Tonks' eyebrows hitched a little higher as she folded her arms across her chest. "For?"

"I--" Remus began, but fell silent. His hands hung limp at his sides. He knew he was equally at fault, knew it always took two to quarrel. But he hadn't the least idea what his part had been.

Unless Tonks thought like Sirius, and counted not wanting to talk as his part of the row?

"You were unfair to me," her clear voice pierced through the thick web of his clamouring thoughts. "When I asked about...you not being able to marry..."

As her words trailed away, her gaze slipped from his. For an instant she looked very small, and reminded Remus of someone swept helplessly out to sea. He automatically stepped toward her, to pull her out, but then she drew her knees up to her chest and clutched her hands tightly around them, as if clinging to a life preserver. She was an Auror. She didn't need him.

"You assumed I was talking about..." But Tonks faltered again, and Remus braced himself for the inevitable, if inconceivable, _us_.

She drew a deep breath, resumed eye contact.

"I fancy you, Remus. Quite a lot. But I honestly haven't thought further than that. I've only just crossed Become An Auror off my Things To Do Before I Die list, you know. I'd like to get used to being one before I move on to Get A Husband And Have Multicoloured Babies."

Remus blinked.

Had he missed the _us_?

Of course not. She hadn't said it. She'd been too embarrassed by the idea of it to say it. She hadn't meant..._He_ had put the idea in her head...

_Dear God._

Had he ever felt more foolish? Apart from Fourth Year April Fool's Day when Prongs charmed Remus' robes to turn into a perfect duplicate of McGonagall's clothing, right down to a tartan bra and knickers set, which had been disturbing on far too many levels, for far too long. Including the several times during his tenure as Defence professor when he'd been tempted to sneak into her rooms and put an end to twenty years' niggling curiosity as to whether the underwear were a figment of James' imagination, or whether there was a really juicy story he'd never told anyone, not even Sirius. Remus had thought more than one dry Order meeting could have been lightened up by a well-timed ice-breaker game where everyone said what underwear they'd got on. He'd even been tempted to ask Mad-Eye if he ever got up to no good with that oh-so-useful magical eye...

At the moment, the more pressing question was: how, in Merlin's name, could he have been so presumptuous? Or, indeed, so _unfair_ -- as Tonks herself said?

The knot inside, which had been so tight and kept so much at bay, loosened, and his heart felt too full to contain. "I'm sorry," he said. "I reacted on the defensive. I took umbrage where you never meant to offend--"

The corners of Tonks' mouth twitched. For a moment she battled against it, but she didn't last long against the ear-to-ear grin that insisted on splitting across her face.

It cut the tension, as well. The room, which had seemed so expansive up till now, with so very much between them, condensed as he laughed. Without being aware of having crossed it, he found himself seated close beside her on the settee, and saying, "It's still a wretched pun, Tonks. And really, multicoloured babies?"

She made a reply he was sure must have been clever, but he missed it, too absorbed in the shining of her eyes, and with the thought that the row was over, and all was right between them once more.

He reached for her hand, and he sighed as their fingers locked together, both with how right it felt and the return of the earlier -- weaker now -- convictions.

Laughter dying, Tonks looked up at him with a quizzical expression.

Quietly, Remus said, "I'm not sure I shouldn't have told you not to waste your time with me."

Tonks shook her head. "I don't want to stop seeing you. It would never be a waste of time to me."

Remus felt like he should protest, and he opened his to do so, though he didn't have the faintest idea what he planned to say. In his hesitation, Tonks squeezed his hand tighter, between both of hers, and continued:

"We'll both get a lot from it. I admire how you don't want to focus on the wrong people do to you. I worked myself into a right tizzy today thinking too much about Umbridge, and you're right, it was exhausting, and I've got too much to do to lose energy to the likes of her. And..." Her gaze dropped to her lap. "You were also right about me setting a different standard for Harry than for myself."

She said it without the slightest hint of accusation, but Remus felt the prick of guilt. It wasn't about one of them being right and the other being wrong.

"I suppose," he said, "like most things, there must be a middle ground. I'm accustomed to keeping everything inside, and I _do_ think about negatives."

He swallowed hard, the bitter taste of shame burning his throat when he recalled just how negative he'd let his thoughts turn tonight. Ordering himself not to play the hypocrite by indulging in regret over that, he looked at her, smiling, through the hair falling into his face, and drew her attention to him with a light nudge of his knee to hers.

"One wise young woman I know would say I think too much."

He half-expected Tonks to lecture him, but instead, she said, "Wise, hmm?" and scooted nearer to him.

His breath caught when her hands released his and slid upward over his forearm. Her skin was very warm and very soft against his, exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeve. Hugging his arm, . she leant her head against his shoulder.

"See?" she half-sighed. "We're already learning from each other."

Though he loved the feel of her leaning on him and his defensive walls were all but crumbled, Remus said, "That can happen without romantic involvement, you know."

Tonks wagged her head against his shoulder. "Not for us."

"Why not?"

"Because we _fancy_ one another. It would be all wrong if we tried to ignore that. We'd have horribly awkward silences." Looking up at him, cheeks rounding with a grin that made her elfin features look charmingly Puckish, she added, "Or do nasty hexes on each other, and that would be awful for the Order, wouldn't it?"

Remus grinned. "It does sound like behaviour rather more suited to members of the _Dis_order of the Phoenix."

Her glittering laugh entranced him -- or, more precisely, the curve of her throat as her head fell back did. It wasn't until she stopped, regarding him with her endless dark eyes, that he noticed she'd let go his arm and laced her fingers through his again.

"We won't be wasting our time," she said quietly, pulling their joined hands onto her knee, "even if it doesn't work out."

It _wouldn't_ work out, Remus amended in his mind as he studied their entwined fingers. But maybe she knew that? Perhaps it really didn't matter?

"I don't have much to offer you."

"I haven't asked you for anything. Only ten or twenty creative dates."

Remus chuckled. "Practically nothing at all."

"I may drive you mental, harping on things, but you can't say I'm demanding."

Their soft laughter trailed away as her forehead wrinkled in deep thought. Remus felt she must be puzzling him out, and he tensed.

"What do you think you'll gain by selling yourself short?" she asked.

"I...I beg pardon?"

"Pity?" she went on, bringing her other hand to cover both of theirs, fingers chafing his knuckles. "You won't get that from me."

Recalling vividly the way she'd looked at him earlier, he turned his head. "I don't want pity." Gruffness crept into his voice. "And you do pity me."

"What?" Tonks dropped his hand and backed away. "Like hell I do!"

"I saw it in your eyes when I said..." Oh God, he'd nearly blurted it out again.

"That you couldn't marry," she blurted for him. "If you saw pity in my eyes, it was because you caught the reflection of you pitying yourself."

Remus looked up sharply, just as her small hands shot out again to take his.

"I was _surprised_," she said -- which brought the bitter taste of guilt back into his mouth, because of course she'd been, he'd seen it himself; why else would he have questioned her incredulity? "You're always so positive, and you can joke about it, that it never occurred to me you saw your life that way."

Remus was partly glad to hear it, because it meant that he'd done what he'd hoped, and kept people from worrying about -- or pitying -- him. But he wished it hadn't made Tonks quite so admiring of someone as flawed as he.

"I can't afford to take you out for a proper dinner date," he said, pressing her hand. "I think it's pretty safe to assume I shall never able to support a family."

"Affording a family's not the same thing as supporting one."

Before Remus could argue -- which was a good job, since he was too tired to formulate a convincing line of reasoning, if there was one at all against something that sounded as wise as what she'd just said -- Tonks leant in, face close to his, expression conspiratorial. She stage-whispered, "You could always be one of those modern wizards who keeps house and takes care of the werepups."

Remus gawped. "The _werepups_?"

She sat up with a wicked, gleeful grin.

Chuckling, he ran a hand through his hair and leant back into the corner of the settee "I'll never doubt again that you're Sirius' cousin. Really, Tonks, _werepups_? You _do_ know it's not hereditary, don't you?"

"Course," Tonks replied, rolling her eyes. "I have NEWT level DADA, like every good Auror."

"I've heard about some of my predecessors."

"Can you cook?"  
Remus raised a dubious brow. "A few things. I make a mean Beans-On-Toast."

"You're tidy."

"Compared to you."

Tonks nearly tumbled off the sofa as she twisted to get at her wand, which she used topoke Remus in the soft part of his shoulder as she glowered playfully. "Watch it -- I know a few hexes that'll definitely make people pity you."

"You should have seen my office at Hogwarts," Remus said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "I had a photograph taken for the Wizard English Dictionary entry for _clutter_."

"And you like kids."

"Not everyone teaches because they like kids," said Remus. "Some like taking away house points, or giving detentions."

"You're describing Snape, not yourself," Tonks returned, putting her wand away and snuggling into the crook of his arm again. "And _don't_ tell me you wouldn't enjoy a quiet domestic life, with time to study Grindylows and Boggarts and all those creatures you're so fascinated with."

"And my brood of werepups?"

"I think it would be a litter, wouldn't it?"

Remus' laughter died as the scene she painted came to life, like a moving photograph, with startling clarity. He saw himself, less shabby, though considerably greyer, stood in a comfortably cramped living room of lumpy arm chairs and packed bookshelves, animatedly showing two wide-eyed, brown-haired children a Grindylow in a tank. From somewhere beyond the frame came a woman's merry laugh. _Enjoyment_ was a tremendous understatement for how such a life would make him feel.

Or rather, how it would make him feel _if_ such a thing came to be.

"You make it seem so feasible," he said, speech breaking the magic of the vision.

"It _is_ feasible."

"Perhaps..."

Yes, perhaps -- but it had nothing to do with _this_, the here and now with Tonks.

"That doesn't change the fact that I turn to a Dark Creature every month. Hardly the bedtime story a woman wants to tell her children."

"One night a month, and so far, your current girlfriend handles it well."

In truth, Tonks had not precisely _handled_ his transformations. There had not been a full moon since he'd asked her to go out with him. She'd never even been present in the house during one of his transformations. At the moment, however, Remus was unconcerned with particulars. How could he be, when Nymphadora Tonks had referred to herself as his _girlfriend_?

"You handle it brilliantly," he said, raising her hand briefly his lips, "but that's not the same as living with a lycanthrope."

"That's where we might encounter issues," said Tonks, a blush Remus hadn't noticed till now fading from cheeks and neck. "You already think I'm a right slob -- though I swear to Merlin, I'm nowhere near as bad as my dad. And my music might drive you mental." She grinned broadly as she gestured toward her Weird Sisters t-shirt, drawing his gaze down considerably lower than her face, but quickly became serious again. "Couples part all the time, and lycanthropy is rarely the cause."

Remus could argue that point till he was blue in the face -- as well as the role of finances in relationship troubles -- but he knew Tonks wouldn't hear it. And he did not particularly _want_ to argue it. Her view made so much sense. She wanted to be with him, and he very much wanted her to be. But there was one point he wanted to make certain was absolutely clear to her.

"Are you _sure_ you want to continue as we are without any promise of...something more?" Remus asked. "Because I can't promise you a future, Tonks. I can only live one day at a time."

"That's the only way anyone can live, Remus. Especially _Aurors_, in times like these. But it's okay to dream. To want."

Her brow furrowed in a sudden frown, and her eyes, which had been shining with earnestness, dropped.

"Tonks?"

"Unless _you_ don't want..." She bit her lip.

_Oh Merlin._ Somehow, though he couldn't imagine how, he'd made her think this was all about her, that he was making excuses because he didn't want to keep going out with _her_.

"I do," he said, catching her other hand, squeezing both before kissing them again. "Very much."

She smiled, relief clear on her face, and Remus released one hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "What do you dream about?"

Grinning impishly again, she stretched to retrieve her wand from the coffee table. Flicking it lazily toward the closed door, she said, "_Accio_ memo."

A moment later, a sheet of parchment rustled out from under the door and flew into Tonks' hands. Umbridge was no longer only a caricature of a toady witch, but full of holes, too. Sirius must have taken Tonks' advice and used it for a dartboard.

"I dream about Dolores Umbridge going green in the face," Tonks said, "and growing a lot of warts."

"Perhaps I could teach you a useful little spell?"

As they laughed, Remus slipped his arm around her shoulders once again and drew her close against his side. For a few minutes they sat in a contented silence, during which he marvelled at how perfectly Tonks fit there. She was just the right height for him to rest his head against hers.

At last she said, "I dream about you getting to teach again someday."

Something deep inside him -- a knot he hadn't known was there -- loosened, even as an entirely different one formed in his throat.

_Tonks dreamed a dream for him._

Not because she pitied him, but simply because she _cared_. She bolstered him, yet did so without unmanning him, as was so often the problem with letting people in. In fact, he hadn't felt this strong since...he couldn't remember when.

Yet in the midst of absorbing these new sensations, Remus recognised that Tonks had not revealed any of her personal dreams. Part of him couldn't help hoping wildly that it was because he _was_ a part of those fancies, though he truly believed what she said earlier: at this point -- one real date, and one quarrel, into a relationship -- she wasn't thinking of him that way. Nor would he dare to imagine such a thing would ever come to be. In any case, now was not the time to let her see how deeply she had moved him.

He raised his arm to rest on the back of the sofa and turned to her with a teasing expression. "How will the Defence Against the Dark Arts position become available again? Will Umbridge resign when her face goes green?"

"Course," said Tonks. "It'd clash horribly with her pink cardigan."

"Maybe you could serve as interim professor, while I picket the Ministry..." He thought of what Sirius had said, and made a mental note to apologise to him in the morning. "...with Harry and Hermione for lycanthrope rights. You are an Auror, after all. Perfectly qualified."

She pulled a face. "I'd trip over a desk and lose all the kids' respect within the first minute of class. Plus my hair isn't very professorly."

"Dumbledore obviously doesn't care about the state of the professors' hair. Otherwise he'd never allow Severus to keep that greasy mop."

As their mirth abated, Tonks asked, through a yawn, "D'you know what I'm dreaming of right now?"

The yawn was contagious. Covering his mouth, Remus asked, "Sleep?"

He realized the sun had begun to rise; light filtered dimly through yellowed lace curtains. Arthur and Molly would be up soon, and Order members would arrive at the house for the day's assignments. Tonks had to work.

"Not sleep." Tonks slipped her arms around Remus' neck and inched close enough that their noses almost touched. "I'm dreaming of you kissing me to make up for our row. And maybe you can help me decide whether I like cheek kisses better than lip or neck kisses."

Remus needed no further coaxing to lean in and fulfil _that_ particular dream of Tonks'.

"Have we tried ear kisses?" he asked, leaning in toward her--

--but he stopped just shy of her lobe, his breath making the tiny, fine hairs of her neck stand, and pulled back to look her in the eye.

"Only swear to me you won't metamorphose into Dolores Umbridge the moment I kiss you."

_The End_

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**A/N: That wraps up another instalment of the Transfigured Hearts series. As always, I really appreciate my readers. This time, those who tell me what they think will get their own Remus and/or Tonks to daydream about the future with, or plot ways to get their own back on the Dolores Umbridge in your life.**


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